Freedom and Sadness
She left yesterday morning. I took her to LAX at 4:30 in the morning. Every time one of us leaves the other, the departing says, "I'll call you when I get home." Yet in the eight or so years I've been leaving home, neither of us has fulfilled the claim. It's as if she's over our little vacation together, and by calling me, it would prolong it unnecessarily. At least, that's the way I see it when I forget to call.
And here I am, watching my sister's house and her animals, and I can't help but feel a little sad. This week Mom was like a Kung Fu sensai or a Jedi Knight schooling me in the ways of classroom excellency, dropping atom bombs of information on my parched head. Now it's just me, the new laptop, several books to crack and a weeks-worth of anxiety to feel. It'll be sweet, though.
Boy am I my mother's son, though, I'll tell you what. Talk about seeing your psyche in the mirror and understanding root causes and all that shit. What a study in genes we were, man. I had this thing when I was a kid where I'd eat nothing but cereal for like a month straight. And it had to be one type of cereal, like Frosted Flakes or Cracklin' Oat Bran. And I'd just pound bowl after bowl, touching little else, except for maybe a lonely pork chop and asparagus at dinner to appease the parents. Well, guess who ate nothing but shredded wheat and blueberries all week? You guessed it. She's definitely her son's mother, that's for sure.
There's a tinge of freedom I feel every time I say goodbye at LAX to one of my parents. Like today I feel extra good when walking down the street, looking forward to the cup of coffee I'm gonna drink and the little chores around the house I'm gonna do and the information I need to soak in during the next few days. It's as if several sandbags have been dropped off my shoulders (which are apparently "drooping to one side" according to my mom). The snipping of the cord doesn't happen just once, at birth. There's snips throughout the years, well into adulthood, and even old age, I'd guess. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if the cord never completely snaps off, leaving one long, gossamer thread made of stronger stuff than worm silk behind. Could it be the "thread throughout time" that's always alluded to in legend and folklore? The thread that pierces our gut? Where does that thread originate, if not our mother's stomach? Her mother's stomach? Her mother's mother's stomach? The Mother's stomach? If so, then snipping the cord completely would be an unwise decision.
And here I am, watching my sister's house and her animals, and I can't help but feel a little sad. This week Mom was like a Kung Fu sensai or a Jedi Knight schooling me in the ways of classroom excellency, dropping atom bombs of information on my parched head. Now it's just me, the new laptop, several books to crack and a weeks-worth of anxiety to feel. It'll be sweet, though.
Boy am I my mother's son, though, I'll tell you what. Talk about seeing your psyche in the mirror and understanding root causes and all that shit. What a study in genes we were, man. I had this thing when I was a kid where I'd eat nothing but cereal for like a month straight. And it had to be one type of cereal, like Frosted Flakes or Cracklin' Oat Bran. And I'd just pound bowl after bowl, touching little else, except for maybe a lonely pork chop and asparagus at dinner to appease the parents. Well, guess who ate nothing but shredded wheat and blueberries all week? You guessed it. She's definitely her son's mother, that's for sure.
There's a tinge of freedom I feel every time I say goodbye at LAX to one of my parents. Like today I feel extra good when walking down the street, looking forward to the cup of coffee I'm gonna drink and the little chores around the house I'm gonna do and the information I need to soak in during the next few days. It's as if several sandbags have been dropped off my shoulders (which are apparently "drooping to one side" according to my mom). The snipping of the cord doesn't happen just once, at birth. There's snips throughout the years, well into adulthood, and even old age, I'd guess. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if the cord never completely snaps off, leaving one long, gossamer thread made of stronger stuff than worm silk behind. Could it be the "thread throughout time" that's always alluded to in legend and folklore? The thread that pierces our gut? Where does that thread originate, if not our mother's stomach? Her mother's stomach? Her mother's mother's stomach? The Mother's stomach? If so, then snipping the cord completely would be an unwise decision.
posted by Smidge at 11:04 AM
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